Dear Santa
by lastknownwriter
Summary: On a cold and lonely Christmas Eve, a tipsy Dean Winchester dropped a letter to Santa in his mailbox at the mall. Then...Santa replied.


**_March 20_**

"How many times you gonna read that, Buttercup?"

Cas shoved a well-worn letter under a pile of envelopes, his cheeks tinting a rosy hue. He scowled at the rakish tilt of his brother's pointy green hat. "Why are you wearing that ridiculous thing?"

"What, this?" Gabe spun around on his toes and gave a little bow. "Suitable attire for an elf, no?"

"You're not an elf," Cas muttered, frowning when a tinkling sound lingered in the office; Gabe had bells tied to his shoestrings.

"And you're not Santa," Gabe shot back. "Yet here you sit, year after year, reading his letters and making the wishes of children, all over the world, come true."

Cas' expression turned bleak. "Not all of the children." He brushed his fingers over a red basket on the corner of the desk, a stack of yellowing envelopes visible inside.

Gabe studied his brother, too sensitive and too prone to melancholy. "You do just fine, Cas. Sometimes things are beyond even our limited capacity to fix."

"Mmm," Cas hummed absently in agreement, gaze drifting to the window where snow still fell, even today, on the first official day of spring.

"So, _Lonely in Kansas,_" Gabe interjected heartily, wagging his eyebrows. "You gonna write back or what?"

Cas frowned in confusion. "Santa doesn't write back."

Gabe's exaggerated sigh was long and heartfelt. "Since you don't wear a red suit or have a long white beard, I don't see how that's a problem." He tapped the pile of envelopes and winked. "Write back."

Cas watched him saunter from the office and tried to ignore the hopeful beat of his heart.

**_March 26_**

Dean thumbed through the junk mail and bills, hesitating at a heavy cream envelope. His name was written in scrolling loops of old-fashioned calligraphy, and the return address read simply _The North Pole._ Cautiously, he turned the envelope over. It was sealed with red wax, the imprint of a hoof giving him pause. _And what was that, was that…_

He brought the envelope to his face and sniffed.

_Warm apple pie._

His pulse fluttered wildly as he carefully slid a finger under the envelope's flap to break the seal.

_Dear Dean,_

_I received your letter some weeks ago. Please accept my apologies for my delayed response; winter is our busiest season, as you can imagine. _

_You spoke so fondly of your brother in your letter, I couldn't help but feel the obvious love you have for him. You say he wouldn't understand your loneliness, but in my experience, I have always found people to be capable of much more than I give them credit for. I wonder if you might not find the same to be true of your brother. _

_You didn't ask for presents, Dean, (a rarity for my mailbox!) so instead I offer this: talk to your brother about your hopes and desires for your life, and then go pursue those dreams. You only get one turn on life's carousel._

_(Unless you're Santa Claus, which has its own lonely burden, if I may be so bold.)_

_My mailbox is always open, should you find yourself in need._

_C. Kringle_

Dean read the letter six times before placing it carefully on the kitchen counter and going out for a run.

Then he came back and showered and read it again.

_C. Kringle_

Chris? _Hmm._ Dean snorted and wondered if pop culture had been spelling Santa's name wrong —purely for reasons of alliteration—all these years.

Then he realized how completely ridiculous he was being. _There's no such thing as Santa Claus._ He had been an idiot to write the damn letter back in December anyway. He had no idea what had possessed him to pop it in that silly, fake, snow-flocked mailbox in Santa's Village. He had been lonely and tired, working a temporary second job as a security officer at the mall to make ends meet and still afford Christmas for his extended family, dreading the drive home every night to the empty house in Lawrence. When Sammy had taken him to lunch that day and revealed his plans for a Christmas Eve proposal, holding the dainty ring he had picked out for Jess, something cold and sad had broken loose in Dean's chest, and the feeling had never quite left him.

In a desperate bid for catharsis, he had spilled all of that loneliness and despair in a letter to Santa , three-quarters drunk on cheap whiskey, and had never really given it another thought.

Until today.

He held the (_let's face it, preposterous_) letter over the simple round trashcan in his bedroom for five whole minutes before tucking it safely inside his dresser drawer, under his socks.

He decided to go out to eat instead of heating up one of the TV dinners in his freezer. He needed the fresh air.

**_April 15_**

_Hi._

_Gotta admit, your letter was the last thing I ever expected to see in my mailbox. I don't really know what to say. _

_Don't really know why I'm even writing back. This is the silliest thing I've ever done (well, the second silliest. The first was sticking that other letter in Santa's Mailbox.)_

_I figure this is the wildest long shot of life, seeing as I don't even have a proper address, but what the hell. I'm drunk and your envelope smells like my mom, and God I miss her so much it's hard to breathe. _

_I can't talk to Sam about this, by the way. I appreciate the advice, but Sammy's happy and getting married in June and the kid deserves that. I'll be okay. I am okay. I'm fine. _

_That's all I really wanted to say. You can go back to, you know, making toys or whatever now. _

_Dean_

**_April 22_**

_Dean,_

_I find your response to my letter wholly unconvincing. But, if you don't feel you can talk to Sam, then my offer stands: you can talk to me._

_ps. You drink too much. _

_C._

**_May 1_**

_C,_

_Fair enough._

_ps. I can't fucking believe __**North Pole**__ worked. God Bless the US Postal Service._

_Dean_

**_May 10_**

_Dean,_

_Your language is very colorful. _

_I have a confession: Every time I open my mailbox and there's a new envelope from you, it makes my day brighter. _

_How many days until the wedding?_

_C._

**_May 20 _**

_C,_

_By the time you get this? Probably 20? They are getting married on the 15__th__. They are so nauseating. Like, I want to barf every time I'm in the same room with them more than twenty minutes. The sappiness pours off of them in a wave of sweetness __big__ enough to gag a horse._

_I'm making them a bench for their gift, out in my garage workshop. It's a secret (obviously. Not that you would –or could—spoil it). Did I ever tell you I do woodworking? _

_(You're probably thinking…yeah right. Amateur. Haha.)_

_Dean_

**_June 1 _**

_Dean,_

_That's wonderful! You're so very talented, and so hard-working. I would love to see it, if you have time to take a photograph. _

_Are you still working at the mall?_

_C_

Dean read the last line twice; had he ever said specifically that he was working at the mall when he mailed that first letter? He couldn't remember…

Then he read the rest of the letter again and again, until the fizzy lightness in his chest sent him into the garage to snap a photo on his phone of the almost-finished bench. It really was going to be beautiful.

Now, where the heck was he going to get a cell phone picture printed out?

**June 8**

_C,_

_Now, don't be passing this around to all your people up north. Wouldn't want the little guys to get discouraged by the talents of a mere mortal. ;)_

_Dean_

**June 16**

_Dean,_

_I am suitably impressed. Your hands are a gift._

_I hope the wedding was a time of joy and celebration for your family._

_C._

**_June 22_**

_C,_

_The wedding was nice. My dad even behaved for once. Everyone was there, Bobby, Jo and Ellen, Chuck, Ash. All the people you've never heard of (unless, you know, you HAVE, ha). _

_Here's a better photo of the finished bench. It was a big hit. Jess even asked for a table and chairs for their kitchen. I've never done a big order like that, but what the heck ( look at me censoring for your delicate ears). Couple of other guests asked for a similar bench. I might have me a side business. Not that I have time for that. _

_How goes the workshop up north? You ever take a vacation?_

_Dean_

"Why yes, Mister Woodworker Man, I _do_ take vacation, and I hear Kansas is _beautiful_ this time of year!_"_ Gabe made kissy noises, laughing when Cas' face turned red in indignation.

"Gabe!" Cas snatched the letter back, smoothing it where Gabe's grubby fist had wrinkled it. "Go check on the warehouse or find something productive to do," he grumbled.

When his meddling brother was gone, Cas studied the grainy photo of the simple bench and smiled, butterflies dancing wildly in his stomach as he imagined Dean carefully turning the lathe, his pretty hands sanding any rough edges smooth.

He should feel bad about snooping (Gabe was right, the internet _was_ a handy tool for research), but having Dean's angelic face firmly ensconced in his mind every time he found a new letter in the mailbox was worth any lingering guilt.

**_June 29_**

_Dean,_

_The bench is beautiful. Again, you are very talented. I think you might have a full time career, not just a side business, if that's what you want. _

_I wish I could take a vacation. Maybe somewhere tropical, where they serve drinks with little umbrellas and the moon hangs full and lush over the sparkling sea._

_Do you enjoy the ocean?_

_C _

**_July 6 _**

_C,_

_Would you believe I've never been? Always wanted to go. I'm not big on fruity umbrella drinks though. You think cabana boys bring beer and tequila too?_

_It's hotter than Hades here. Please tell me you still have snow so I can vicariously share a burning fire and cooler temperatures._

_Dean_

**_July 15_**

_Dean,_

_From what I understand cabana boys provide whatever you desire._

_ps. The snows are melting just in time for what passes as 'summer' here. Lots of new baby deer and puppies. Lots of sappy feelings. You would hate it._

_C_

**_July 21_**

_C,_

_You seem to know an awful lot about cabana boys. Is there something you'd like to tell me? :P_

_ps. I'm not a total ogre. I enjoy the occasional puppy._

_Dean_

**_July 30_**

_Dean,_

_Well I might enjoy the occasional cabana boy. Are you offering?_

_C_

Dean laughed out loud. He had been wondering since late June, but this letter confirmed his suspicions. Santa Claus just flirted with him.

Then he was left with a horrified thought.

**_August 4_**

_C,_

_So…C doesn't stand for Christine or Caroline or Cynthia, does it? I only ask because, well, (this is embarrassingly hard to write) I haven't exactly "been" with a woman since my aborted attempt at college more years ago than I care to admit. I mean, I like women in theory. Breasts are nice, for example. _

_But I, um... WOW THIS IS HARD. _

_I like guys, all right? As in LIKE like. All parts of em. Some parts a __whole lot__._

_I'm sweating buckets. _

_Dean_

**_August 11_**

_Dean,_

_Thank God._

_C_

**_August 29_**

_C,_

_Sorry for the delayed response, had a little accident. This will be short, hard to write in a sling._

_You ready for fall? Can't believe it's almost that time of year._

_ps. Your last letter made me snort coffee through my nose._

_Dean_

Cas jumped up from his chair.

"What's the matter?" Gabe asked, concerned.

"Dean had an accident."

Gabe chuckled and relaxed into the couch. "Apparently he's all right though? If he's writing, I mean."

Cas worried his lip between his teeth, the truth of Gabe's words doing absolutely nothing to calm the hammering of his heart. "He's in a sling," he fretted.

Gabe sipped at his hot chocolate. They had had their first big snow of the year that morning, and all was right in their world again. The Pole always felt a little _off_ when temperatures rose above the melting point. "So, go pay Woodworker Man a visit."

"I can't do that," Cas said, horrified.

"Why not?" Gabe stared at his brother in consternation. "You've been sharing love letters for six months. I doubt he's going to kick you to the curb now."

Cas stared. _Had it really been six months?_ He counted back in his head, eyes widening in surprise. "He knows nothing about me. What if he hates me. And this." He waved a hand over his head to encompass the oversized log cabin where he lived with Gabe and several members of their extended—and irksome—family.

"He's not going to hate you," Gabe huffed. "He thinks you're fucking adorable."

Cas flushed, warmth spreading through his limbs and leaving him breathless. "He does not."

Gabe sighed and worked his way out of the comfy cushion. It was a sad day indeed when going to the shop to annoy Uriel was more appealing than hiding from work in Cas' office. "You're a moron," he grumbled. _He had been enjoying that cocoa, dammit. _ "And yeah. He totally does," he threw over his shoulder as he flung himself from the room in a snit.

**_September 5_**

_Dean,_

_I hope you're all right. Your injury isn't too severe? Was it in your workshop? Safety is very important around power tools. _

_The season is most assuredly kicking into high gear. Before you know it, the anniversary of your first letter will be upon us. That seems incredible to me. _

_Before you accuse me of being too sappy, I must say that these past several months of correspondence have been the best and brightest part of my year. Thank you, Dean._

_I might be able to sneak away in October, if you think you would be available for dinner?_

_C_

Dean's heart beat triple time as he read (then reread) the last line of the letter.

**_September 9_**

_C,_

_Hell yes I'm available! When and where?_

_ps. You're kinda cute when you're all obsessively worrying. I wish it was more studly, but the truth is I fell down the steps and dislocated my collarbone. No power tools involved. It's mostly healed now. Both arms, ahh… fully functional._

_Dean_

**_September 21_**

_Dean,_

_So sorry again for the delay, although I fear this is my norm during the holiday season (which, for me, began in August, truth be told)._

_I've used the Google to find a restaurant/bar that looks suitable. The Roadhouse? October 15 at 8 pm?_

_ps. I had a run in with one of the reindeer last week, but was spared any lasting damages. All limbs fully functioning here as well. _

_C_

**_September 27_**

_C,_

_I'm laughing so hard right now. "The Google". Goddamn, you make me smile. _

_Reindeer. _

_!_

_Just so happens the Roadhouse is owned by my kinda sorta aunt Ellen. Perfect choice. _

_See you soon (I've wanted to say that for a really long time)_

_Dean_

**_October 10_**

_Dean,_

_Five days…_

_C_

**_October 15_**

Dean fidgeted on his stool.

"Stop fidgeting." Jo took the bowl of empty peanut shells away from him and replaced it with a newly filled one.

"I'm not!" Dean squirmed some more and avoided checking the clock.

"It's not eight yet, calm your tits." Jo lazily wiped the already glossy countertop in front of him.

"Don't you have customers to serve?" Dean asked crossly. He was nervous enough without his entire damn family staked out at various posts in the bar to witness the first time he met… whoever the hell he was going to meet.

_Please God, don't let him have a beer gut and whiskers, _he prayed.

Although, if he did, would he really care? He had wondered this –often—over the past several weeks. If the person behind the letters, letters that had come to mean practically everything to Dean during the past few months, if that person was less than ideally attractive…would it make a difference? Would Dean like, _possibly_ _more than like_, the man who penned them less?

C was funny and kind and thoughtful and he was, was… Dean peeked at the clock over the bar.

He was going to be here any minute.

"I'm going to hyperventilate," he gasped, eyes wild.

Jo grabbed his face between her cold hands, smacking him once for good measure. "Dean. Focus." She mashed his cheeks until his lips made a fish-mouthed moue. "Who wouldn't love a face like this?" she quipped, kissing him quick.

"Stop that," Dean slapped her hands away, infinitely calmer. _Damn her._ He could do this. It would be fine.

An hour and forty minutes later, as Sammy was buying him his first shot of Cuervo, he repeated the refrain in his head. _I can do this. I'm fine._

Four hours after that, Sam dumped him in his carefully made bed and floated a blanket over his still form. "Night, Dean," he said softly, before going to make up the couch.

**_October 18_**

_C,_

_I said I wasn't going to write this, doubt I'll ever mail it. But here goes. _

_What the hell, man? I mean, I've been stood up before, but I guess I never felt like this about the person doing the standing. _

Dean stared at the unfinished letter for a long time before he crumpled the page and tossed it into the trash.

**_October 31_**

Cas carefully tidied his desk before sitting down to open the newest batch of letters from the children. He had already skimmed through the envelopes, looking for the telltale messy cursive he had held dear for so many months.

"You ever going to tell me what happened?" Gabe picked up the stack of letters marked _To Fill_, frowning at his brother's wan complexion. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"No." Cas handed him three more letters in quick succession. The children were so specific these days. He longed for simpler times when they wanted a ball glove or a dolly, a bicycle or a dog.

Back when his fondest wish was an occasional extended catnap or a decent cup of cocoa with a generous mound of marshmallows. Not softly tanned skin dotted with freckles, or green eyes reflecting the lights overhead, or a plaid flannel shirt stretched tight across a strong, broad back.

"There was a woman," he said suddenly.

Gabe gingerly rested a hip on the corner of the desk. "What kind of woman?"

Cas glared. "What do you mean? A female woman. A pretty, blonde," he stopped, his angry posture deflating. "They looked happy. She kissed him."

"Did he kiss her back?" Gabe asked carefully.

Cas' sigh was soft, an elongated wisp of air escaping from between downturned lips. "They seemed happy," he repeated, shuffling the last batch of letters. "Let's just forget it, okay? We're behind and falling further each day. I'm glad for Dean. He deserves to be happy."

Gabe knew when he had been dismissed. He paused in the doorway, opening his mouth to tell Cas not to be so quick to judge, that looks can be deceiving, any number of old adages aimed to quell a broken heart, but found himself slowly turning away without speaking. Cas was in Christmas mode and he was right: they didn't have time to worry about a penpal romance gone awry.

**_November 25_**

_Dean,_

_As Thanksgiving approaches, I find myself feeling sentimental. I miss our exchanges, but understand why they must cease. Still, I would be remiss if I did not tell you that I am thankful for your friendship this year. _

_Peace go with you and yours this holiday season,_

_C_

**_December 19_**

Sam stared at the unopened envelope on the coffee table. "Santa Claus."

"Yup." Dean took another healthy swig from his bottle.

"Dean—"

"Don't, Sammy. You can't call me anything crazier than what I've already called myself." Dean nudged the basket at their feet with his toe, the cream envelopes and beautiful penmanship mocking him. "Read 'em and weep."

When Sam reached for the one on top, Dean stood. He couldn't bear to see them, couldn't read them again. He hadn't been able to since that night in October, but their absence from his life had been eating a hole in him, a hole that had finally driven him to confide in his brother, desperate for some sort of release.

"I'm going to bake a pie." He went into the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later, he found Sam staring up at the ceiling, the last open letter on his chest. He handed him a mug of cocoa, extra marshmallows. "So?"

"Well," Sam swallowed and then sat up, carefully balancing the mug on his knee. "I think I'm crazy too."

Dean laughed softly, relief easing the knots that had bound him up for weeks.

"So are you going to open it?" Sam nodded to the newest letter.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know if I can. What if it says everything I don't want to hear?"

"What if it doesn't?" Sam asked.

They stared at the envelope until Dean huffed, ripping into it hastily, wincing when he tore a bit of the letter in addition to the flap. He scanned the contents twice before thrusting it in Sam's lap.

"Sounds like a goodbye to me. Wish he'd sent it before I made a fool of myself." He gulped the hot chocolate, burning his mouth.

Sam read through the letter so carefully it set Dean's teeth on edge. "Sounds like a goodbye only if you want it to be? Maybe an apology."

Dean stared at him. "You _are _crazy."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. I mean, we are trying to fix your relationship with Santa, aren't we?"

Dean slugged him in the arm, but couldn't completely stop the grin quirking up the edges of his mouth. "No," he denied, but it was painfully unconvincing. "So now what?"

Sam pursed his lips. "You still afraid to fly?"

**_December 24_**

The snow fell in big, fat, wet flakes in Dean's hair, coating his eyelashes so quickly he had to blink several times see inside his wallet.

"You sure about this, Mack? Don't think I'll be able to make it back out here to pick you up if you got the wrong address." The delivery guy frowned at the huge log cabin down the lane. "Don't too many people venture this far back in these parts."

Dean shoved the money through the window. "I'm sure. Drive safe." He slung the strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder and took a deep breath. "Here goes nothin'," he muttered under his breath, and began the long trek through the snow.

It had taken Sam less than two days to pinpoint the fabled location of Santa's workshop; it seemed the locals were well enough aware of the expansive residence deep in the woods, accessible only by snow plow once winter had really set in. Dean had driven as far as he could, until the roads had forced him to stable his baby in long term parking. Then he hitched a ride with a supply truck, its driver a beefy, burly guy who thought Dean was half a keg short of a frat party for venturing this far north, this deep into December.

He was pretty well frozen solid by the time he reached the great, long porch and lifted a huge brass knocker (grinning wildly because the damn thing was molded into the shape of antlers). He let it fall against the door, a dull tone cutting through the hush of falling snow and hanging there, suspended, for several seconds.

When the door swung open, he had to drop his gaze nearly a foot to meet the smiling face of a man in a bright green hat. "Hi. I'm—"

"Holy shit." All the color drained from the man's face. "You're Dean Winchester."

Dean shifted his weight self-consciously. "Uh, yeah?" When the man continued to stare, he smiled his best, most non-predatory, totally-not-a-stalker-who-drove-3500-miles-to-get-here, smile. "Can I come in?"

"Of course, shit. Yes." The man danced out of the way, falling against the door with a _thud _when he closed it. "Dean Winchester. As I live and breathe." Then he started to chuckle, which turned into a deep, choking, belly laugh, until Dean began to fear for his sanity.

"You all right there?"

Gabe gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," he wheezed. "Irony's a bitch, you know?"

Dean wasn't sure if that was actually a question so he nodded noncommittally. "So, I'm actually here looking for someone. C. Kringle?" He twisted his hands together before dropping them to his side. _Don't fidget_.

"Oh for the love of my brother—You mean he never even told you his _name?_" Gabe asked indignantly.

Dean shrugged. "Ahh, no?"

"Castiel," Gabe said succinctly. He was halfway across the foyer and heading for a large arched doorway before Dean blinked.

"Nice to meet you." Dean hefted his duffle higher and hurried after the shorter man. _Elf?_

"No," Gabe said, stopping abruptly in the threshold of the big opening. "C is for Cas. Er, Castiel. I'm," he jabbed himself in the chest with a thumb. "Gabriel. We're just a bunch of angels," he winked.

Dean's mouth fell open when he stepped into the cavernous room. It was filled, wall to wall, with work tables, where all manner of objects (mostly toys) were being constructed by a wide variety of very normal looking—normal-sized—people.

"What is all this?" When hat guy didn't answer, he whistled. "Hey. Gabe. What is this?"

"Duh," Gabe rolled his eyes. "Santa's Workshop? What did you think we did all day? Bake cookies?"

Dean scowled, wishing he hadn't mentioned cookies. "I wish you hadn't mentioned cookies. I'm haven't eaten since..." He counted in his head. "Alaska?"

"Alaska! Where the hell did you come from?"

"Kansas."

All activity ceased and people began to gather round.

"Kansas?" they murmured with interest.

Dean shifted closer to Gabe. Just in case.

"How'd you get here?" asked a woman with bright red hair. "Did you fly?"

"No," Dean said slowly, apprehensive about the overenthusiastic interest in his answer. "I drove."

"You drove?! From Kansas?" Gabe's mouth fell open in astonishment. "How long did _that_ take?"

"A while," Dean said drily. "So. Cas?"

The room stilled again.

Gabe sighed to himself. He had been hoping to stall a little longer. "Gone. Left early this morning."

Dean's entire world bottomed out. "What do you mean, _gone_?" The workers backed away at his clipped, angry tone. He dropped his duffle on the floor and rolled his stiff neck, trying to hold his frustration in check. "Where the hell did he go?"

Gabe shrugged. "I have no idea. He was muttering about cabana boys, and then he was… gone." He gestured for Dean to follow him and took off again.

Dean stiffened. He had _not _lost Cas to some no-faced, no-shirt gigolo with an umbrella drink. _I don't think so._ "Well, get him back. Call him, something. I need to talk to him." When Gabe didn't stop, he ran to catch him, spinning him around by the arm. "Look, it's... It's important."

"Yeah Dean? Well Christmas is important." Gabe shrugged off his hand. "And Cas –better known as _Santa_ around these parts—left us high and dry without a sleigh pilot."

Dean sniffed the air and glanced around; they weren't in the workshop anymore. He wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"

"Reindeer shit," Gabe said matter of factly, reaching into a closet and pulling out a garment bag. "Now. How do you feel about helping this jolly old elf kick off our biggest night of the year?"

Dean had to jog to keep up as the house seamlessly merged into a storybook barn. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the biggest damn grandfather clock he'd ever seen, its huge brass pendulum swinging back and forth hypnotically. Twice, he lost Gabe in the twisting turns of the straw-scattered aisles, sounds coming from behind each closed stall that he _really_ wished he had time to investigate.

His heart might have crashed headlong into his stomach over the revelation Cas was gone, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't intensely curious about what happened next.

Ten minutes later, he had his answer.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Gabe cursed, kicking the sleigh runners.

"Should elves cuss?" Dean asked skeptically.

"Shut your trap, Hammerman." Gabe had lost the hat at some point and was pulling his hair in frustration. Suddenly he whipped around and studied Dean with a smirk. "Hold that thought," he murmured, rubbing his hands together in excitement. "It's _you_."

"Me?" Dean frowned. "Me what? I didn't do anything."

"No," Gabe snorted. "It's magic or whatever. This contraption only works with a pure heart. It's powered by love. That, my handsome woodworking friend, is where _you_ come in." He shucked the red coat and tossed it to Dean. "Put that on."

"What? No!" Dean threw it back.

Gabe returned it so quickly Dean was forced to catch it or get beaned in the head with a brass button. "Yes. Slip into something comfy and hop in, beautiful."

Dean's mouth worked furiously. "I don't fly."

"Pshh," Gabe waved his hand dismissively. "Just think of it like a fancy roller coaster."

"Gabe—"

The huge grandfather clock began to chime. _Midnight._

"Dean! Get in, GET IN!" Gabe frantically shucked his pants, kicking them in Dean's direction.

Dean shrugged into the coat, muttering under his breath. "Goddamn elves. Freaking cold has gone to their head. Short circuited their brain—Hey!"

Gabe slapped his rump as soon as it was covered in red velvet and gave him an eager boost into the sleigh. "Yeah, whatever, gorgeous. Just get these beasts a hoofin' before the whole damn thing goes balls up."

As soon as Dean was seated, the sleigh began to glow.

"Yessss!" Gabe fist pumped the air overhead.

When his seat began to tremble and creak, Dean moaned, covering his mouth. "I'm going to be sick," he mumbled around his fingers.

The reindeer pawed at the ground, nervous and anxious to move.

The clock continued to chime.

"Go, Bambi, go!" Gabe crowed. The closest reindeer jabbed his antlers in Gabe's direction, forcing him to skip away with a laugh. "My bad. _Blitzen_."

Dean slid lower, praying for morning as the runners skated over the hay-strewn floor.

They had just cleared the barn door when the reindeer stilled, sniffing the air.

"Why are you stopping? Go!" Gabe gave Blitzen's butt a little shove.

"Gabe? What's going on?"

Gabe whirled around. "Cas?"

Dean sat straight up , suddenly and unequivocally unable to breathe.

The clock chimed.

"Dean?" Cas' heart thudded heavy against his ribcage, and his entire blessed existence crystallized on one perfect face. "Dean." Beautiful, talented, sweet, generous _Dean_, wearing _his coat_ and sitting in _his sleigh_. Cas felt lightheaded, weaving when he took a forward step.

"Steady there, Santa," Gabe chuckled, catching his arm.

"I'm not Santa," Cas corrected breathlessly, waving at the man wearing the red coat and glowing preternaturally gold. "Apparently _he_ is." And _God,_ he looked good doing it.

"Me?" Dean squeaked, looking down at his belly, exhaling in relief when it was as flat as it had been that morning. He smiled sheepishly at the dark-haired man standing open-mouthed and heart-stoppingly handsome next to Gabe. _Thank you Jesus, I knew he was going to be gorgeous_. "Uh, surprise?"

"Dean, Cas, Cas, Dean." Gabe pushed Cas toward the sleigh. "Junior here is never gonna get this monstrosity off the ground without a little help." He rolled his eyes when Cas hesitated by the steps, apparently too mesmerized by the human occupying his usual spot to act like he hadn't done this oh, about a thousand times before. "Cas. You have to _go._"

The clock chimed it's last toll, just as Cas slid into place, and the reindeer leapt into the air, whipping the sleigh above the clouds and shooting across the night sky in a golden burst of starlight.

Gabe collapsed in the snow, exhausted. "I don't get paid enough for this shit."

**_12:01_**

Cas squeezed Dean's fingers, smiling softy. "You can open your eyes now, Dean."

Dean shook his head furiously. "No, I really can't."

Cas chuckled and took a chance, brushing his lips over Dean's so softly it barely qualified as a kiss. The butterflies in his belly fluttered to life in a burst of joy. _Dean._

Dean opened one eye, slamming it shut when they flew through a cloud bank. "Eyes on the road!" he admonished weakly.

Cas smiled and wrapped an arm around him, tugging him close. He couldn't resist brushing his mouth over the golden brown hair at Dean's temple. _Soft._ "You're safe. I won't let you fall."

Dean exhaled slowly, wondering if Cas could hear his heartbeat galloping through his chest. "Too late," he muttered.

Cas laughed again, ridiculously happy. "Thank you, Santa," he added, wondering if it was too soon to kiss him again.

"I'm not Santa." Dean concentrated on breathing. In, then out. _God, he really does smell like pie. If I turn my face just so… _He gave into temptation and nuzzled Cas' neck, smiling when the other man shuddered faintly. "But for the sake of argument, thank you for what?" Cautiously, he pried open his eyes, weighing the possibility of puking against the desire to finally see Cas, up close.

He had been waiting such a long time. Sometimes, it felt like forever.

He barely had time to suck in wind before Cas was holding his neck in a firm grasp and was kissing the hell out of him, dragging frantic, hot lips over his mouth, his cheeks, his neck. His chin burned where stubble scraped his skin, and he laughed as fucking _giddiness_ bubbled up in his throat. _Who knew Santa had a sexy five o'clock shadow and could kiss like that._

"Thank you for giving me my Christmas wish," Cas finally murmured, voice sandpaper rough, and hopelessly sweet.

Dean wondered if he would ever stop smiling and hoped his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "Oh that," he scoffed with a wave of his hand. "Piece of cake," he winked.

The sleigh dipped and he yelped, slamming his eyes shut.

"Dean—"

"Cas—"

They both laughed softly.

"You first," Dean offered, willing himself to relax the death grip he had on Cas' hand.

Cas just held on tighter. "I saw you, at the bar."

"You were there?" Dean's mouth worked. "But, why didn't you say anything? I—I waited for you." He nearly winced, the painful realization that Cas wasn't coming still unbearably fresh.

Cas' blue eyes were soft and sad, confusion clouding the deep hue. "You were with a woman. You kissed her."

Dean groaned. "_Jo_, oh my God. Cas," he laughed, hopefulness and despair warring within him. "Cas, Jo is my friend. She's like a bratty little sister to me. She was trying to calm me down. I, uh," he stuttered self-consciously and glanced away. "I was nervous."

Then Cas was kissing him again, kissing him for all he was worth, and Dean recognized the desperation behind the soft movements of his mouth and hands, fingers clutching at Dean's face and neck, because he had been feeling the same for eight long months. Maybe longer; maybe he had always been desperate for this, for _Cas_. When he was finally allowed to breathe, they were practically parallel in the sleigh, and Dean feared one —or both—of them would fall out somewhere over Cleveland.

"You have the worst timing," Cas growled suddenly and Dean laughed.

"Me? _You_ are the one seducing me in Santa's sleigh."

"You've been seducing me for months, Dean."

Dean's pulse tripped wildly at Cas' sexy, determined look. "We need to get out of this sleigh," he muttered under his breath.

The reindeer jogged a deep, hard right and Dean might have blacked out.

Just a bit.

When he came to, they were perched—unsteadily, _goddammit—_on the ridgepole of a farmhouse, and Cas was nibbling gently on his bottom lip.

"Cas," he gasped, _and when did he lose his pants and get wrapped up in a blanket_?

"There you are." Cas sat back and buttoned the last button on the red coat. He hopped easily over the side of the sleigh when Dean reached for him.

"I hate you," Dean grumbled. _Except in all the ways, I so completely don't,_ he thought.

"Be right back," Cas winked.

And in a flash, he was, kissing Dean through another takeoff, and then another and another, until the edges of the night began to blur and Dean was gone, fast asleep beside him in the sleigh.

Pink and violet tinged the eastern sky by the time they returned to the big barn, and Gabe was there, waiting to greet them. He eyed the sleeping man, tongue firmly in cheek. "So. Did you get lucky?"

"Gabe," Cas admonished in hushed tones, but the pink flush in his cheeks didn't go unnoticed.

"I'm counting that as a _yes,_" Gabe teased. He rolled his eyes when Cas climbed from the sleigh and dutifully began to unharness the reindeer, ever conscientious. "Oh for fucks sake, Cas. Take sleeping beauty up to your room and ravish him like the ending to a proper love story before I kick your ass."

"Seconded," Dean said gruffly, hair standing at attention as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

In spite of himself, Cas couldn't find fault with either of their logic.

And so he did.

_The End_

_Epilogue_

**December 26**

_Sammy,_

_It's 82 degrees and balmy in Tahiti. Suck it._

_ps. I have totally changed my stance on umbrella drinks. My cabana boy is quite the catch. _

_pps. You ever tell anyone I said that, I'll murder you in your sleep. _

_Love to the fam, _

_Dean and Cas_


End file.
